PERSISTENCE OF MEMORY (Part Four)

By Kate

Eiko was sitting out near the docks, thinking. She was only in Alexandria for three weeks, and, halfway into her visit, she already missed Cid and Hilda. She swung her legs heavily and smiled to herself. She enjoyed having a family again; for a long time, Mog had been her only companion, and when Mog had changed, she had felt abandoned. And now she was something like the princess of Lindblum – or whatever else the daughter of a regent was called.

She sighed to herself and was about to contemplate her position in relation to Queen Garnet’s when she spotted a familiar figure standing at the edge of the docks. Her sharp eyes told it was Amarant; idly she wondered what he was doing. She decided to find out.

"Amarant!" she called. "Amarant!" She ran down to where he was.

"Go away," he snarled at her.

Eiko backed up slightly. "Whoa, hold it," she said, holding out her hands in a stalling motion. "What’s got you in such a mood?" Usually Amarant was civil to her, even though she could tell he didn’t particularly like her.

"None of your business, Eiko. Please leave."

She snorted. "At least you said please this time. But you know me. I’m not gonna leave until you tell me why you’re in such a bad mood."

"No."

"Fine. Then I will just stand here and block your way until you tell me. You won’t dare push me down."

Amarant pushed his hands against his temples in frustration. "I may have said some things to Freya that were unwise, all right? Now go."

"You did what? Did you hurt her feelings?" Eiko jumped back and waved her hands in the air. "You … you idiot!"

Amarant stared back at her with a lethal glint his eye.

Eiko hated when he got that look in his eyes, like he was trying to be a rid of a pest. But she was not to be deterred. "Well, you are an idiot if you upset her. She’s kind of in a delicate situation right now. Even I know that," she added scornfully.

"Eiko…"

"What did you say to her?" Eiko persisted.

"That is none of your concern. I don’t want you meddling."

Eiko put her hands to her hips. "Excuse me," she said, thinking of the letter she’d written to Zidane, "but the last time I meddled, two people fell in love. I don’t see what’s wrong with my meddling."

"I only mean that I want to deal with my problems myself."

"Maybe you shouldn’t sometimes."

Amarant rolled his eyes. "And you think you can help me, then?"

Eiko chose her words carefully. "No, but I…"

"Then stick with your own affairs," Amarant said shortly.

Eiko threw her hands up in the air in an exaggerated gesture of frustration. "Fine, whatever." She paused, then stared up at him solemnly. "But I think you should apologize to Freya before it’s too late."

With that, Eiko skipped off.

* * *

Freya needed some air. She had been sitting in the same chair for what seemed like hours, staring endlessly, trying to focus her mind on anything but the present, anything but reality. She wanted to get out of Alexandria Castle.

She pulled her hat down over her eyes and took the boat over to the docks. It was late, past midnight, and everyone was asleep … even those who manned the small ferries. Freya felt a kinship with night, as it was the way of the dragoon to creep through darkness and shadows. Night was her element. She didn’t mind rowing herself; the physical labor took her mind elsewhere for a few precious minutes.

She came to the other side and tied up the boat. Her movements were slow and languid, as if she were moving in a daze, then she sat down in the water, staring at her liquid reflection with guarded eyes. The Freya in the water was inconstant, flickering in and out of existence as the winds swept over the current. Her face was bold, but tired; brave, but sickened.

Then the tears came out in a flood.

*

Amarant saw Freya hunched over near the water, and he knew immediately from the way she was sitting that she was crying. The sound was faint, soft, but his skilled ears could pick it up.

Strange, because it was the place where he had first seen her, and because now the circumstances were much different. Then, she had been fighting, and now she was weeping. The parallel was disturbing, even haunting. It was like Freya had come full circle.

He stepped up behind her, moving deftly so she wouldn’t be able to hear him. Only when he leaned over, then sat down beside her, did she notice him there. She looked up and uncovered her face.

It was an image he would always remember, along with a few others that had forever been seared into his brain. Her face, tear-stained and forlorn and strangely beautiful, shadowed in moonlight. Her expression was unreadable. He stared blankly for a moment, then regained his composure and spoke to her.

"Freya."

"I would prefer that you not see me cry," she said directly.

"I have already seen," he pointed out.

"So you have," she replied bitterly.

It was obvious she wanted him to go, but he would not oblige. "Look, I…" He shook his head and started over. "I…"

Freya cut him off. "Oh, hell, Amarant, it’s not because of what you said to me, if that what you want to know. I know you’re sorry. You can put your demons to rest."

He was confused. "Then why are you crying?"

"Well, what you said … I knew it already. It’s painful to realize that I’m probably deluding myself." She studied the water, not looking at him. "Sometimes I think it’s my nature to take up fruitless quests. First I was searching for Fratley, and now I am trying to help him."

"I see."

Amarant was hearing her words, but he was also watching her, and that seemed to take over much of his mind. He was filled was foreign emotions, and recognized most of them as offshoots of empathy. His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought; he couldn’t get used to the idea of sympathetic emotion within himself. It was like a stranger, a parasite, had invaded his body.

After a long pause, Freya’s breathing finally returned to normal as her slight, muffled sobs faded. Slowly, she turned her head, craning her neck to look at him squarely.

"Amarant, do you ever get the feeling that you’ve outlived yourself? I mean, that sounds silly when I put it that way, but there are really no other words to describe the way I’m feeling. Do you ever feel … over?"

He was reluctant to answer her. "Is that how you feel?"

She looked at her knees, which she had drawn up beneath her chin. "Sometimes. Sometimes I feel like there’s nothing left for me. Nothing left to do, to have, to learn. I think that … maybe … I was meant to die with my people in Burmecia."

Amarant struggled to find words. "You feel … like you have let down your people?"

Freya shook her head. "Not anymore. But I think I should have been there with them, defending the castle along with the rest of the dragon knights. I don’t feel like I’ve let down Burmecia. I feel like I’ve let down myself."

Amarant was silent. He didn’t have anything to say.

"I mean, look what I have become," she continued, striking her arms out into the air. Her eyes went back to her reflection in the water. "I don’t need anyone to tell me how pathetic I am. I already know what a joke I’ve grown into. Freya Crescent, one of the last dragon knights of Burmecia, stuck with nothing to defend."

"Freya…" Amarant began. "I’ll help you if need should arise."

She ignored him. "I mean, here I am in Alexandria, trying to accomplish something that is almost guaranteed to fail. Why? Why? Because … because I … I don’t have anything better to do, Amarant!" Her voice broke down and she started to cry again, the fresh spate of tears shaking her entire body.

Amarant lifted a hand gingerly, then carefully placed it on her shoulder to comfort her. He was unused to touching others, even in such small gestures. Then she let out a loud sob and pressed her face to his neck suddenly, crying and shivering.

Surprised, Amarant almost pulled away … then he placed his hands on her back and held her carefully as she cried, as if he was holding something fragile and valuable. He waited patiently until her crying ceased, then he drew back slowly and looked her in the eye.

There was something different between them. Still close, they looked at each other gravely. Amarant put his hands to his sides and stared. Her eyes were an odd, lovely shade of grey, coated with the sheen of tears. His body, of its own accord, seemed to be leaning closer to her, inch by inch.

Then, without warning, he leapt up and ran away.

*

Ack! I know it’s just as cruel to leave a reader with a bittersweet scene as it is to end off with a cliffhanger. I promise the next part will be up soon, despite the ever-annoying intervention of real life. Damn classes.